


Buried My Guilt

by NightxPine



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Kinda, god its been years, i mean the geoff/jack is only really implicit, possible origins story, there are a lot of commas, this could also be seen as an ode to commas, you could see it as being just platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightxPine/pseuds/NightxPine
Summary: Before the Fake AH Crew, Geoff came from nothing.Jack is the only other person who knows what went down.





	Buried My Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> So, just out of curiosity, I was looking through all my old wips and I rediscovered this.
> 
> I finished writing this a bit over two years ago, and it was originally intended to be part of a series of unrelated fics all based off of the songs from Foals' album What Went Down, but then life got in the way and I pretty much lost all steam for the other fics. 
> 
> This fic, based on the song 'What Went Down', and a screenplay version of a second, based on 'Mountain at My Gates', ended up being the only ones completed.
> 
> I haven't really been part of the rt/ah fandom for the past two year, but after reading through it and deciding I still quite liked it, I decided to polish it up a bit and post it here.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Slàinte Mhath

He’s making the city his.

He’s making the city his and every night that’s been spent running from the cops or from hitmen, he’s high off the fact that he’s important enough for people to hunt. Important enough for people to care about who he is in some fucked up way.

Geoff came to the city two months ago, and the city’s quickly learning his name. 

People ask where he came from, what his story is. They don’t know, and Geoff intends to keep it that way. He wants to bury the past in the cheapest hole he can buy. 

After weeks of interrupting drug deals, he’s able to start a drug distribution of his own. It makes fast money that he burns on booze and weapons. He turns to other gangs in the city, picking them off one by one when they patrol their territory. He has no doubt that they know it’s him, but they’re never able to locate him. He’s made sure of that, changing his name on leases or rentals. The increasing ink on his arms helps him blend into the shadows he so frequently lurks. 

For once in his life, he has the power. 

Fearful whispers of ‘Ramsey’ pass between people on the streets when they see him. Pedestrians subtly shift away from him when he nears. He revels in it, but he’d never hurt them. Just the ones who do others wrong. 

When he’s not on the streets, he’s in a bar, a club, a dirty motel room. Dim lights and fist fights and lust filled encounters of unfeeling kisses and fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, the salty tang of blood thick on his tongue. 

Him, leaning against a wall, an anonymous mouth on him, too many to count. He’s desensitized to them, muttering out praises he doesn’t mean. They all don’t seem to notice, responding happily, all too ready to please him. 

There are times when he breaks, curls in on himself and digs his nails into the skin of his palm in an attempt to ground himself. When the moon rises, so does his guilt, perching itself on his tongue and souring his mouth. Those nights are the worst, and he’s paralysed, frozen in place, breathing too quickly to take in any oxygen. He wishes he could go back to before he came to the city, before he left his old home in the first place, but whenever he opens his eyes he’s surrounded by the same walls, the same streets, the same city. 

He rarely manages to sleep, but when he’s dragged into a slumber he would rather be awake. Would rather be able to see where his past began and his current reality ended. Flashes of blue and red, the shrill scream of alarms, the sharp scent of metal. Exhausted and gasping for air as he runs but gains no distance.

It was a bad one. Nursing a bottle of vodka, Geoff’s knees were tucked tightly against his chest, eyes rimmed red as they stare blankly at the ceiling, the peeling paint. He hears the knob of the door turn, but doesn’t bother to glance down until the harsh light from the corridor hits him full in the face. Squinting, he finally peers into the glaring light, a silhouette standing in the doorway of his motel room. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, a slight rustle of leather. 

“Geoff.” It’s small, quiet, sudden, as though what she’d originally intended to say is silenced in her throat. 

He knows that voice, recognises it. His mind dregs up unwanted memories from before, from his past life. They twist in his chest painfully like the knife that’s made its home in his back. 

His voice is hoarse when he manages to choke out an answer. 

“Jack.”

She steps further into the room, just enough so that there’s no longer a halo around her body, so that the light balances out and Geoff can finally see her again after…what, years now. 

She looks different, but the same. There are still echoes of that young girl he first met, nose and knuckles bleeding from the fight she just won, fierce defiance bright in her green eyes. Cheeks flushed and the fiery short hair she was trying to grow out disheveled. 

They took care of each other after that, would have each other’s backs without fail. Although, if Geoff was honest with himself, he had needed her more than she needed him. Underdogs alone, they agreed that together they would bring justice to their streets. Together they would bring down the tormentors, the bullies, the bastards, down to their rightful place. 

Memories forward to the last time they saw each other. Geoff had made a deal with someone he shouldn’t have trusted, and he double-crossed him, ratted him out for a gang to murder him and the police to clean away the scraps. Luckily he’d caught drift of it and managed to get himself and Jack away from the gang with the skin barely on their backs. But he couldn’t stop the ring of cop cars from surrounding them, the shriek of sirens piercing the cold air. Couldn’t stop the hands grabbing, tugging, pushing him into the back of a musty police car. 

Geoff had thought he’d lost her for good that night. 

As it turns out, she saved him once, she’d save him again. 

Gripping the neck of the glass bottle, he brought the rim up to his lips and let the alcohol burn its way down his throat, the feeling a reminder that yes, this was real. No longer able to keep looking at her, he fixed his gaze to his marked hands. He could feel her gaze scanning over him, brows no doubt furrowed in concern. 

“God, Geoff, what happened to you.” She was still hesitant to move. He couldn’t blame her. 

“How did you find me?” It’s barely a croak, desperation clear in his rasp as he wants, needs, to know. “Where have you been?” 

She drops to her knees a few feet away from him, her hair, cut to her shoulders, bouncing with the motion. “You’ve not exactly been trying to stay hidden.” It’s gentle, a joke, but it still bites a bit, reminds him that he never looked for her. 

He did, he _did_ , but she had always been better at surviving than him. 

It wasn’t an accusation, but he can feel the bile, the defense, rising to his throat, and maybe the alcohol is affecting him now, but his voice is raised and he’s brokenly spitting out barbed words he doesn’t mean. Would never mean. 

She’s still sitting there, unflinching as he hurls insults that should make her furious, make her lash out at him like he deserves. 

It’s infuriating, and the tears come unbidden, prickling at the crow’s feet by his ever-tired eyes. Geoff can barely feel it when Jack pulls him into a tight hug, trembling against her warmth as he now weakly sobs. She’s mumbling kind words that are unintelligible to him, but it’s obvious that she’s apologizing. 

For what, he has no idea. 

She’s rubbing his back gently and the tight knots of tension that have resided in his back for so long slowly unfurl. 

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” She hushes him, “It’s my turn to look after you now.” The words wash over him, push back the bile in his throat, drag him down in a pool of warmth, and, for the first time in a long, long time, he feels safe. 

They’ll make it through this.


End file.
